Did you know?

Victorians could hire 'professional mourners' to attend their loved one's funeral. These people would partake in the procession and were not allowed to speak, just look awfully sad! — Rune

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"The Prodigal Sister" for Ophelia Devine. Faked deaths, scandal, and schemes!
Kristoffer was going to be great at this, because he was great at everything. Also his memory was greater than everyone else's, because he bet no one else had ever lost their virginity somewhere exotic like Morocco. Hell, he bet no one else had even lost their virginity. Inexperienced losers.

Kristoffer Lestrange in Shining, Shimmering Splendour

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7 Deadly Sins

Complete seven threads, one where your character displays each of the Seven Deadly Sins — Pride, Lust, Sloth, Envy, Weath, Gluttony, and Greed. Each thread should be at least ten posts, with at least three being your own. Character accounts can be combined.


Social Casualty
May 19th, 1888 — The Only Inn in Shere, Surrey
She ran away to chase her dreams
And they said she wouldn't make it far
She took a chance and packed her bags
She left town and didn't look back
So tired of wishing on the stars

Social Casualty, 5 Seconds of Summer

Shere was definitely not the place Bella imagined she'd end up following her incident, but it was the first place that had come to her mind when she realized she'd turned down every offer for a place to stay while the investigation into her father was underway. She'd not been officially disowned yet — she imagined her father was advised not to make any rash, impulsive decisions while awaiting trial — but she wasn't exactly welcomed into her home with open arms. Not that she really wanted to go back anyways; she was more concerned about having a family to her name than a home, which did nothing nothing than prove how out of whack her priorities were.

Any promise she'd made to anyone about making smart decisions going forward had been thrown out the window, because now she was waiting for Reuben Crouch, who, at least according to her father, was one of the reasons he'd tortured her to begin with. He'd offered to come and she'd invited him without a second thought, not even considering what "we could talk about it" entailed. Would he want to talk about her feelings while patting her leg? Would he demand the nitty-gritty details? Or would they exchange minor pleasantries and sit in silence? Nothing with him that she'd ever involved herself with had been predictable, so she had surprisingly few expectations.

Except she knew he would ask about her scars, which were... surprisingly visible, actually, with the dress she was wearing. It was nothing special, and was more reminiscent of what the working class muggles were wearing than something her sister might dare ever put on. No extra layers, no clunky wires, nothing super extra — it was like the muggle version of her old work robes, really. He'd also notice she was acting different, and he'd probably wonder why she'd chosen Shere to begin with. She at least had an answer to the latter.

Just as the sky was beginning to dim, there was a quiet knock on her door. She turned around and stared at it, frozen for a solid ten seconds, until a second knock came. Finally, she realized answering it was probably the best idea. Or- Well, it wasn't locked, was it?

"Come in," she called out nervously, hoping it was Ben rather than some drunken stranger. Nobody had bothered her in the five days she'd been here, so she had that comfort.

I'll burn that bridge when I get to it.
Art Pettigrew would almost certainly have advised against this interaction, but Art had already made up his mind about whether or not Miss Scrimgeour's story held any water. Ben was still uncertain. On the one hand, he felt the very idea of a girl being tortured by her father couldn't possibly be true, no matter what sins she had supposedly committed, but he didn't think she was the sort to make it up entirely, either. Whatever the truth really was, it was enough to get the Ministry to arrest Mr. Scrimgeour, which meant there had to be at least some evidence that he'd done something illegal. The paper had said assault, but there was a wide range of actions covered under that one legal term, as a friend from Excalibur (who also happened to push paper in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement) had informed him. No one who wasn't working on the case seemed to know exactly what this assault entailed, and Ben was too cautious following his recent arrest to try and go snooping around with the actual investigators. If he wanted answers, then, this was the surest way to get them.

It was more than just morbid curiosity that compelled him to track down her room at the inn tonight, however; he was still on edge about the relationship between him and Mr. Scrimgeour, and whether the man ended up getting locked up or not, Ben thought it would be in his best interest to know exactly what he was up against.

He hadn't thought to ask what name she was staying under, but assumed it wouldn't be her own. Once he found the inn, then, he resorted to a little casual espionage by buying himself a pint downstairs and chatting it up with one of the locals until they mentioned a young stranger who was staying by herself in one of the upstairs rooms. That could only be Miss S, he figured, so he finished his pint and headed upstairs to the room they'd said she was in. He was a little nervous, since the last time he'd gotten involved with her, it had ended up in a Ministry manhunt and a brief stint in a holding cell for him, among other things. Hopefully this meeting wouldn't prove quite so problematic in the future.

The voice sounded like hers, but it was hard to be sure. He was relieved when he opened the door and found that he'd gotten the correct room after all. "Well, hello, little rebel," he said with a smile as he shut the door behind him. "I wasn't sure what name you were staying under, but it looks like I managed to find the right room. You're staying here alone?" He already knew that she was — unless her companion was so hidden away that the Muggles in the town had never seen her — but he still thought it a strange choice for a girl in her position. She'd had a job at the hospital, so he supposed she had a little money (and magic could make a little money last a long while), but still. Where was the friend that she'd been with in Scotland? Where were any of her friends, now?

He is sensible and simple; bold and natural
So strange and agreeable; there is nothing formidable
His smile is most naive, cheerful and good-natured
And he’s as handsome up close as at a distance
He was here, and, fortunately for Bella, he was alone. He'd obviously made it sound like he was coming alone, but she already knew at least one of his friends was aware of their situation, and thus the fear of those friends tagging along lingered in the back of her mind. The manner he'd entered the room was so carefree and casual — just like Ben himself, she realized — that Bella felt awkward standing there in her rigid position.

At least he began with questions, which allowed her to avoid awkward silence.

"I- I'm always alone, really. Or at least I wish to be, most of the time." She didn't think he'd ever seen her when she was with someone, as her reputation as a serial chaperon-escapee had never faltered since she left school.

She was about to offer him a seat, only to realize there weren't really manly places for them to sit, at least together. She'd gotten a single-person room, which gave her bed, chair, and a small table in the corner of the room (among other smaller, less necessary amenities for a witch). "Um, you can sit - uh - there," she said, pointing towards the single chair. "Or — wherever you'd like to. It's not- well, there's not a lot of room."

I'll burn that bridge when I get to it.

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